Friends by Default
by realityisboring21
Summary: Cato and Clove were the best fighters District 2 had and what started out as a rivalry between the pair somehow turned into friendship. What happens when they both enter the 74th Annual Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **My Clato obsession continues to grow and so I decided to attempt write something a little longer this time. Once again, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing

* * *

We didn't mean to become friends. It was more of a friendship by default kind of thing. He was the only one who was as skilled as I was, not that I'd ever admit that to him. Of course our friendship wasn't exactly conventional. It consisted of us trying to one-up the other on a daily basis, and attempting to prove that we were the better fighter any chance we got. Everyone else thought that we were rivals, that we hated each other. They just didn't understand the nature of our friendship.

In the beginning we really, truly despised each other.

When I was twelve it was decided I would train with the older kids. I was way more skilled than any of the numskulls my age, and every fight I won with ease, there was absolutely no challenge. On my first day I noticed him right away. Four dummies were set up around him, and in less than thirty seconds he had stabbed all of them in the heart with his sword. I was impressed, but I wasn't going to let him know that.

I stopped staring at him when one of the trainers took it upon themselves to introduce me.

"This is Clove," The kids murmured excitedly, eyeing me like a piece of fresh meat.

"She was too advanced for her group so she's going to be joining us," My eyes were drawn back to the boy with the sword, and I watched as he rolled his eyes and laughed at me.

"She's like, 10!" The boy yelled out. "She doesn't belong here; she's going to get hurt!" A few other boys chuckled and nodded in agreement.

He didn't think I was good enough! My brow furrowed and I felt my face turning red with anger. Swiftly I pulled my knife out of my belt and flung it through the air. It soared across the room and landed in the mat directly beside him. I smiled, watching as a small drop of blood trickled down from where I had slightly nicked his right ear. Everyone else in the room looked astonished, but he kept that smile planted firmly on his face.

"You missed," he shouted, a smug smile still on his face.

"Cato," the trainer beside me warned. He ignored the trainer's warning.

"Why don't you try again?"

I reached for another knife, but the trainers jumped into action, one held back my hands while the other took the remaining knives off my belt. Once they were sure I was weapon free, they started reprimanding me-something about how I shouldn't throw knives at other trainees' heads. I nodded along and snuck a peek back over at this cocky boy Cato. He was holding a sword and watching me intently.

Throughout the rest of the day I caught him shooting glances at me, and it motivated me to train harder, simply to prove to him that I belonged there and that I was just as good, if not better, than everyone else.

It wasn't until a few days later, when the trainees began to fight against each other, that I realized he was the best fighter here. He won every with ease, pinning his competitors down in mere seconds. Once he had successfully sent five students to the first aid office, the trainers decided it was a good idea to pit me against him. After all, I was the only kid here who had never fought him before.

When they called my name I stood up calmly, unlike the other trainees who had either groaned or were so scared they started shaking. I knew he expected me to be scared, but instead I was excited. Fights were just so exhilarating. Cato took notice in my calm attitude and it threw him off. I suspected it had been a while since anyone wasn't petrified of fighting him, and it was obvious he was angry about my cool demeanor. I flashed a smile to throw him off even more.

"3, 2, 1," someone called out from the side, "Fight!"

We jumped into action immediately. He lunged for me but I evaded him with ease, the fact that I was smaller and more agile than him gave me an advantage when dodging my opponents. There were wooden poles to the right of us and I ran to grab one, knowing that without a weapon there was no way I could beat him. Instantly he realized my plan and ran after me. I reached the poles just as he caught up to me, and he grabbed me from behind. I responded by elbowing him in the gut. Once he dropped me I snatched up a pole and hit his shins hard, a sickening crack echoing throughout the gym. I knew I hadn't hit him hard enough to actually break his legs, just cause some serious bruising. When he fell to the ground I climbed on top of him and tried to pin him down; meanwhile he reached out and grabbed a pole of his own. He hit the side of my head and I rolled off of him, a slight ringing in my ears from the blow. Quickly we both got to our feet and continued swatting at each other for a good minute. Eventually he managed to hit my torso hard and I fell down. He pinned me and held me there, I struggled but his grip was too powerful. Someone on the sideline counted to ten and I was declared 'dead'.

Even though I lost that first fight I had lasted longer than everyone else, and he was impressed.

"Seems like you're not as fragile and weak as you appear," he remarked once we were both standing again. I shot him my signature glare. How dare he say I look fragile and weak, sure I was small, but definitely not fragile nor weak.

"If you're the best fighter District 2 has we're in serious trouble. I'm two years younger than you and I almost took you down," I rebutted.

"You did not!" He turned defensive quickly and I laughed. Suddenly I was in control, and I liked it.

"Oh I definitely did," I said and pushed past him, walking out of the large gym. I could feel his eyes piercing the back of my head as I left.

From then on we would fight each other any chance we got. A lot of the time it happened when we were supposed to be practicing our skills independently, one of us would make a snide comment at the other and suddenly we were rolling around on the ground or holding weapons to the other's throat. More often than not our fights resulted in injury, like the time I sliced open his arm. I still smile whenever I see the nasty scar on his left arm. As a result we got in trouble an awful lot, but we also became better fighters.

However, sometime during all those fights and competitions we began to acknowledge each other as equals. We gained respect for the other, and our friendship formed.

One time I walked into the gym only to find an obnoxious redhead fingering my favourite knife, I had left my belt of knives on the side bench and she had taken it upon herself to steal one. I wasted no time in telling her off.

"That's my knife," I said. She looked me over and scoffed.

"Get another," Her voice was as obnoxious as her face.

"I don't want to get another, that's _my _knife," I repeated. Who did this girl think she was? Everyone knew I was the best knife thrower in District 2, I was lethal. Yet she had the audacity to roll her eyes at me and turn around. Turning her back to me was her first mistake. I took her down easily, and in less than 10 seconds she was pinned on the ground, the knife at her throat.

"Help!" she screamed, and I laughed. Was she actually asking for help? Apparently so, and before I knew it two larger boys had come over and pulled me off her, slamming me into the ground. My head was pounding but I wasn't about to back down. I was younger then, not as rational, and there was no way I would ever walk away from a fight. Plus she was still clutching my knife!

I stood back up and lunged for the girl. The older boys were stronger though, and the two of them together overpowered me. In addition, the girl was back on her feet and assisting in pinning me down. I was greatly outnumbered, and about to have my head smashed in when I heard Cato's familiar boots running over. In one fluid movement one boy was pulled off of me, freeing my right arm. He landed with a thud behind Cato, and with my free arm I punched the other boy's nose. I felt the bone break underneath my palm and smirked as he yelped out in pain. Cato lifted the girl off of me with ease and held her limbs down so she couldn't fight back. I reached over and snatched the knife from her hand, being sure to smile widely as I did so. Once I had the knife Cato dropped her on the ground, and all three of them wasted no time in hurrying away. The girl ran to another training section, and the boys headed over to the first aid office.

I ran my hand over the smooth edge of the knife, smiling at the familiar serrated edge. I looked up to find Cato staring down at me expectantly. I sighed, realizing that I had to thank him, something that I tried to avoid whenever possible.

"Thanks," I mumbled, "I could've taken them though," His eyes widened.

"As if," he scoffed, "Please, if I hadn't come over to help she would've slit your throat,"

"Yeah, like she has the guts to actually do that. She wouldn't make it past the first hour in the games," He actually laughed at that comment and I was taken aback. He was always so intense, so serious; it was weird to hear him laugh.

"Very true," he agreed.

That day something changed. He had helped me, defended me. It was then when I realized that despite constantly fighting, he would always be there to back me up. Then I realized if he was ever in danger, I would be there to help him without a second thought as well.


	2. Chapter 2

I strode down the hallway casually. My dull brown hair was pulled back into a bun; we always kept it back while practicing. It had been a long day; I had been at the centre for 12 hours straight. It didn't bother me though, this time of year our training always got more intense. It was nearly Reaping day, everyone wanted to get in some extra practice and so kept the centre open longer. While I had no intentions of volunteering this year I got in as much practice as I could, and took advantage of the longer hours. Finally it was announced that the centre was closing, meaning I had to return home. Of course by that time there was only 3 kids left, this younger boy who was terrible at everything he did, Cato, and I.

* * *

"You were off your target," Cato whispered into my ear as he came up from behind me. My reflexes kicked in and I whipped around, my fist swung at his eye. He blocked the punch with ease, and laughed at me. Laughed. At. Me. "Whoa there."

"I was right on target."

"Nu-uh," he mocked, "you were a little too far to the left." I pushed him against the stone walls in the dimly lit hallways.

"I was not," I said, narrowing my eyes, "take it back."

I pinned him against the wall quickly, one arm lay across his neck. I expected him to struggle but he made no move to free himself.

"I'm not taking it back," he replied. I applied more pressure onto his neck with my arm, he didn't even flinch.

"Take it back," I seethed. I hated him so much right now. I hated that he had the nerve to challenge my skills. Even more so, I hated that he had noticed I was off even when the trainers hadn't. I'll admit I was slightly distracted. There was a fight going on at the other end of the gym between these two large, blundering idiots, and I was trying to refrain from jumping in and slicing both their heads open with my knife. I threw the knife without paying a whole lot of attention, and while it was still within the bulls-eye area, it wasn't dead center as usual. Instantly I realized and hurriedly retrieved my knife, hoping nobody else had seen. Apparently I wasn't all that lucky.

I stared at him, he was smiling widely now and that made me even angrier. How was this possibly funny? I raised my fist, ready to slam it into his face when a trainer appeared at the end of the hall.

"Clove," the trainer's stern voice warned. I hesitated, wondering just how much trouble I'd be in if I gave him a black eye; it wouldn't be the first time. "Clove, back off," he instructed.

Reluctantly I obeyed and backed away from Cato. The trainer nodded approvingly and continued on through another door.

Cato and I walked down the long hallway side by side, wordlessly.

"The Reaping is soon," he said solemnly.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"I'm volunteering this year."

"Obviously." He was 17 now, in two years he would be considered too old to go into the Games. He had to volunteer now.

"Are you?" He asked, almost hesitantly. I turned and looked at him, did he look nervous?

"No, I'm waiting until I'm older," I answered, and I swear he looked relieved. Was he glad that I wasn't entering this year? Or were my eyes just playing tricks on me?

"You should wait until you're older, you're definitely not good enough now," just like that the old, snarky, cocky Cato was back.

"Please, if I entered now I would win for sure."

"Then why wait?"

"Because," I paused, trying to think of a good answer. I wasn't ready now; I still had a few more years of training to go, there were more things I could learn. Thankfully I never had to answer. We had reached the centre's exit, and we parted ways. Not even as much as a goodbye to the other, as always.

* * *

I got home and took a shower right away, shouting "I'm home!" to my parents as I dashed upstairs. After my shower I walked back downstairs to find something to eat, my wet hair hung down around my shoulders. Both my mom and dad were sitting at the kitchen table, and they looked up when I walked into the room.

Identical stone hard expressions were set on their faces. I recognized that face, the last time I had seen it my dad had gone off on a rant, yelling at me for not being a better fighter. I cringed at the memory.

"Clove, there's something we need to tell you," My dad said, his voice cold, as usual. _Something we need to tell you. _That meant there was no room for discussion, he was going to tell me to do something and I would have no choice but to obey.

"Okay," I replied, standing up straighter. I matched his expressionless tone, ready to accept whatever he was about to tell me.

"Your trainers tell us you're doing exceptionally well, they say you're the best girl trainee District 2 has," This wasn't news to me, of course I was the best. Why was my father telling me this though? He never admitted that I was the best, to him there was always room for improvement, and he was always pushing me to do better. "Is that true? Are you the best fighter?"

His question threw me off, and I immediately thought of Cato. "Yes, it's true. I'm the best fighter," I waited to see if he would scold me, perhaps for being so cocky about my skills. Yet he simply nodded in response, apparently pleased with what I had said.

"That settles it then," he paused; a small smile crept onto his face. This was weird, my father _never _smiled. I had a feeling he was about to tell me something I definitely wouldn't like, I held my breath, waiting. "Clove, you're going to volunteer for the Hunger Games this year."

My mind started to spin. _This year?_ I wasn't ready, well maybe physically but mentally? I thought I had a few more years left. This was too soon, way too soon. My eyes flickered to my mom, silently begging her to help, but she remained cold and motionless like my dad.

"No!" I hadn't meant to scream, and I instantly regretted it.

"Excuse me?" The smile was gone from my father's face, anger replacing it.

"I'm not ready. Not yet. I need a few more years; I need to train a bit more,"

"I spoke extensively with your trainers. They all believe you are ready as well." Of course they did. I felt like killing those trainers. As if they knew anything, I may be better fighters than them but that doesn't mean I'm ready. Then a sudden realization dawned on me. Cato. He was volunteering this year for sure. There was absolutely no way he wouldn't. I felt sick.

"Please, not this year." I begged.

My father's anger grew, and I swear I could see smoke coming out of his ears. "There will be no compromising!" He bellowed. "You are going to volunteer this year! That is final!" My mother didn't even flinch at his volume, she simply sat there. I took a few deep breaths.

This is what I was made for, what I born for. This was my destiny. Maybe my father was right, I was a skilled fighter. I was Hunger Games material. And I was ready now. I pushed thoughts of Cato aside; it was stupid to be thinking of him now. He would not influence my decision, I had been trained to be ruthless, and feelings were not an option. Mentally I scolded myself for even thinking of him, we weren't even real friends. If and when the time came, I could kill him, I knew I could. That settled it, my father told me I was entering the Games this year, which meant I would be entering the Games this year.

"Okay, I'll volunteer," I replied, holding my head high.

The smile returned, "Of course you will." He stood up and walked out of the room, my mom trailing behind him like an obedient dog.


End file.
